


Tranquil as Forest (but on fire within)

by sheyrenawyrsabane



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Boys actually communicating with each other, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Track & Field AU, but okay, sounds fake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-19 01:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13113405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheyrenawyrsabane/pseuds/sheyrenawyrsabane
Summary: Mitch changes tracks so quickly, Auston can’t keep up. By the time he figures out how he feels about Mitch’s smile, he’s babbling about dinner. By the time he figures out how much he liked Mitch pulling him in for a hug, Mitch is stepping back so he can talk about his plans for the weekend. And today, by the time he realizes he would’ve rubbed Mitch’s stomach if he really wanted, Mitch is already upstairs.





	Tranquil as Forest (but on fire within)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dannybsdadbod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannybsdadbod/gifts).



> These two are so much fun to write! Thank you for the prompts that led to this (very self-indulgent) fluff of a story!
> 
> Re tags: There is some recreational marijuana use. There's also some underage drinking.

Auston’s minding his own business, playing some Call of Duty, when Mitch bursts into his house. “I think I’m dying,” Mitch groans and flops down on the couch.

He’s in stupidly short shorts and a vibrantly orange singlet which means he must’ve just come back from a run. Even if the clothes didn’t give it away, the smell does. He smells like sweat, but since Auston’s an athlete too he doesn’t mind it. What does wrinkle his nose is whatever shit cologne Stromer uses. It’s like Axe but worse, clinging to Stromer in a cloud that infects anyone he stands near.

Or runs near in today’s case.

Mitch groans again and rubs his stomach, hiking his singlet up in the process. His skin is bronzed after a summer of running shirtless. If his shorts ride up anymore he’ll flash Auston. Even so, Auston can see the stark white of his thighs, his natural color.

Which means he ran around the streets of Toronto this summer in tiny fucking shorts and nothing else.

Auston’s a weak man. The thought makes  _ him _ want to groan. 

He settles for sneaking another look.

“Peer pressure is the worst,” Mitch continues. “Just say no, Matts.”

“Did you race Stromer up hills again?”

“It was our annual fast food run. Fast food fish should be outlawed or something. Ugh, I don’t want to move. Will you rub my stomach for me?”

“What?” Auston asks.

“You know, our fast food run. We run the downtown loop and have to stop at every fast food joint and eat something off the dollar menu. I can’t believe Stromer went with the chicken nuggets. At least fries taste good.”

Mitch rolls off the couch and staggers towards the stairs. “I need a nap. I’m stealing your bed.”

“Okay?” Auston says. It comes out more like a question, but Mitch is already halfway up the stairs.

Auston sinks back against the couch and wonders what the hell just happened.

~*~*~

Auston’s a thrower, has been since he first did track camp the summer before third grade. Then, he was throwing Turbojavs and softballs, but as he grew older and stronger, his implements grew heavier.

He’s heard all the jokes there are about throwers. He just didn’t want to run so he thought he’d chuck things. He’s too heavy to play a real sport. He’s slow and that’s why they don’t even make him do the dash. 

There’s a bit of truth there. He isn’t fast like the sprinters and doesn’t have the speed or endurance to be a distance runner. He is quick though. He’s spent  _ years _ honing his footwork. He’s nimble and fast within the throwing circle or on the jav runway.

But being around Mitch makes him feel slow.

Mitch changes tracks so quickly, Auston can’t keep up. By the time he figures out how he feels about Mitch’s smile, he’s babbling about dinner. By the time he figures out how much he liked Mitch pulling him in for a hug, Mitch is stepping back so he can talk about his plans for the weekend. And today, by the time he realizes he would’ve rubbed Mitch’s stomach if he really wanted, Mitch is already upstairs.

Sleeping in Auston’s bed.

~*~*~

Auston and Mitch are both sophomores at Team North America University. They’re on the track team, recruited out of high school to compete for one of the best programs in the country. Mitch is a steeplechase runner at heart who tolerates cross country season and complains nonstop during indoor.

Auston can’t blame him. He hates indoor track too. There are only two events for him to do, and there’s something wrong about throwing shit inside. He’s always afraid he’s going to break something.

They’re only two weeks into the cross country season, though, which means there’s still some time left to enjoy being outside. 

Everyday after class, Mo swings by to pick Auston and Hanny up for preseason practice. There’s no fall season for anyone but the distance runners so they make do with captain’s practices and extended time in the weight room, preparing for the first indoor meet of the season.

Mo’s a senior and one of the field event captains. Saader, a junior, is the other. Nuge is the distance captain and they don’t really have a sprint captain. Coach McLellan keeps saying that there’s no such thing as event captains, only program captains but that’s bullshit. Auston respects Nuge as a person and an athlete but there’s no way he knows the first thing about throwing. He’s not the person Auston will take spin critique from.

Unlike Mo.

“You need to pre-turn your toe,” Mo says.

Auston always needs to pre-turn his toe. No matter how many times he practices, it isn’t a natural movement for him. Which means if he isn’t thinking about it then he doesn’t do it. Of course, if he is thinking about it then half the time he over-rotates and that’s an entirely different problem.

He takes a deep breath and steps into the ring again.

The shot put rests heavy in his hand, tucked against his neck so he doesn’t drop it. He takes another deep breath and as he releases it, he relaxes his muscles and sinks into his starting position.

This time when he spins, he plants his toe pre-turned, giving him the torque he needs to uncoil and launch his shot. 

Hanny hates shot put, discus is his favorite event and going from the larger discus ring to the smaller shot ring fucks him up. Auston likes how contained the shot ring is. It’s a smaller space, so it means he feels as if he’s exploding out of it. 

When he throws disc, he always feels like he’s reaching.

“Good,” Mo says. “Hanny, you’re up.”

They’ve tried to fix some of Hanny’s difficulties in switching between shot and disc by making him a glider in shot. It’s how almost everyone at Auston’s high school threw shot, but it’s always weird for him to watch. It’s like a little hop-skip thing. It’s effective, Hanny was 6th in their Conference last year, but it’s not Auston’s favorite. 

When Mo picks up a shot to take his turn in the ring, Auston nudges Hanny.

“You opened up too early.”

“Yeah?” Hanny asks.

Auston nods.

“I’ll focus on that next time. I don’t want Mo making us do that stupid hand holding drill again.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to hold my hand?” Auston mimes wiping a tear away. “I thought we were teammates.”

Hanny laughs and shoves his shoulder.

Mo’s gaze flicks over to them.

“Focus,” Auston says, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Block out all the distractions,” Hanny adds.

“What did I do to deserve you two?” Mo asks.

“I’m telling Saader on you,” Hanny threatens.

“He’ll take my side,” Mo says. “Captain bond.”

~*~*~

After an hour and a half practicing outside, they head inside for a two hour session in the weight room. By the end of it, Auston’s completely wrung out and ready to crush some dinner. 

The three of them head to the dining hall together. Auston and Hanny assemble a salad under Mo’s watchful eye as if Auston hasn’t been feeding himself since last year. Once his salad’s done, he’s still hungry but not so ravenous that he’s going to make bad choices. 

He tackles the protein part of dinner next, a burger patty topped with lettuce, tomato, and two eggs.

Johnny and Eichs are at the table when they show up, and Johnny makes a grabbing motion for Auston’s plate.

“ _ Burger _ ,” he moans.

“Like you’d even appreciate this,” Auston says, keeping his plate tucked close to him. “You’d take all the good stuff off.”

Sure enough, Johnny vanishes and when he returns he has three burger patties smothered in cheese sauce and ketchup and a side of French fries.

“How do you even get off the ground?” Hanny asks, eyeing Johnny’s plate.

“Physics.”

Johnny’s their pole vaulter which should say everything about him that needs to be said. He willingly catapults himself into the air with a fiberglass pole and hopes he did it right so he lands on the mats instead of the surrounding track. 

Auston thinks all pole vaulters are out of their minds. He likes his feet to stay firmly planted on the ground, thank you very much.

Eichs is a short distance sprinter when he’s forced to and a long and triple jumper by preference. He’s always complaining about sand. 

“It rained this weekend,” Eichs says between gulps of chocolate milk. “Jumping into the pit felt like landing on fucking concrete.”

“Well, did you turn it?” Johnny asks.

Eichs rolls his eyes. “Like Saader would’ve let us jump if we hadn’t. I have sandburn and shit all up my leg.”

“Aww,” Hanny says.

Eichs flips him off.

Larks and Eks, two of their short distance guys, join them as Auston’s finishing his second plate. By the time he returns to the table with his third, the table’s swelled to accommodate all the cross country guys.

Mitch has shoved a chair between Auston and Hanny’s so he can sit next to Auston.

“It’s a good thing you’re tiny,” Hanny says as Auston sits down.

“I’m not tiny!” Mitch squawks. He elbows Hanny who elbows him back and Davo has to rescue three different drinks from being knocked over.

“Really?” Davo asks in the disappointed tone which means one day he’ll make a great captain.

“He started it,” Mitch says.

“Real fucking mature, Marns,” Stromer drawls.

From his grunt, Auston assumes that Mitch kicks him under the table. 

Auston laughs and keeps eating.

~*~*~

Mo drags them to the track for bleacher runs which are a special kind of hell, but it means Auston gets to see the distance runners. 

They have hurdles set up so they can work on their flexibility. They step over the hurdles, both forward and backwards before they space them out so they can step over and under them.

“Do you want to add that to our workouts?” Mo asks, following Auston’s gaze.

“I’m good,” Auston says. 

They do their first run, spaced out so they each have their own set of stairs. 

“Every foot, every step,” Mo calls out.

Auston hates this one. It’s about tiny steps, about quickness and agility, but it makes him feel too big for his body, like he’ll fall over at any moment. Also, it’s Hanny’s best one, and he beats them all cleanly to the top. They do it again.

Then they move to one foot, every step.

It’s better but it isn’t until they skip two then three steps that Auston feels comfortable. This is where his strength plays into his favor. He explodes up each step, thighs powering him higher and higher until he slaps the top of the bleachers. 

Hanny reaches the top a few seconds behind. He flips Auston off as he bends over to catch his breath.

~*~*~

Auston shares a house with Hanny, Mo, and Saader. As far as living arrangements go, it’s pretty good. When Saader isn’t giving practice 110%, he’s at the kitchen table, giving his school work the same effort. 

Mo’s pretty serious about his classes too which means Auston always has a quiet environment to get his work done in. Johnny and Eichs share a house with Larks and Jonesy, and Seth has sought refuge with Auston more than once already this semester. 

Mitch, Davo, Stromer, Nuge, and Eks are in the distance house which has been named The Red House after a shitshow of a party led to fruit punch covering the walls. The walls have long since been painted, the party in question happened when Hallsy and Ebs were freshmen, but Mitch claims if you squint hard enough then you can see the stains.

The Red House is where they throw all their parties during the year, though things are usually fairly tame when they’re in season. 

“Green House tonight?” Hanny asks, poking his head into Auston’s room. 

The Green House is actually green which is where it got its name. It’s also where the best pot on campus is found.  _ Auston  _ isn’t in season yet so he shrugs, puts his books away and says, “Sure.”

Auston’s not a big drinker. He doesn’t like how unpredictable it is. Drinking can make him melancholy, can make him angry, can make him flirty and handsy, and he never knows which it’ll be until it’s too late to do anything about it. Pot is predictable. It mellows him out, helps him relax enough to actually enjoy being crammed into a basement with a bunch of sweaty strangers. 

He changes into a pair of jeans with holes ripped into the knees and a plain black t-shirt.

“Wow,” Hanny drawls. “Really putting in the effort.”

Auston rolls his eyes. “Oh, you’re dressing up? A polo doesn’t count.”

“It has a collar!” Hanny protests, his face turning red which means that’s exactly what he was planning on doing. 

“Idiot,” Auston says, fond, then follows Hanny into his room so he can heckle his fellow thrower as he gets dressed.

~*~*~

They smoke up at the Green House then wander down the brick-paved road to the Beach House. This house got its name forever ago when Phil Kessel was on the team. Apparently, the guys who were staying in the house wanted a beach party so they grabbed someone’s pick-up truck, filled it with sand, then dumped it in the backyard.

There’s now a rule forbidding the transport of sand on the college’s property. 

These days, the Beach House’s porch is wrapped in white Christmas lights with drink umbrellas stuck in them. It’s certainly a look, but one that Auston doesn’t get, even now when most things seem to make sense to him.

Hanny, tired of Auston’s meandering pace, grabs his hand and tugs him towards the backyard. 

“I thought you didn’t want to hold my hand,” Auston says.

“ _ Dude _ ,” Hanny says, awfully judgemental for someone who should be loving life right now.

His impatience makes sense when they round the house to see Eichs waiting, his trademark baseball cap making a bid for freedom from his curls. 

“Ah,” Auston says.

Eichs is a competitive fucker which means Hanny has to get high before playing beer pong with him or it’ll end in a fistfight. Auston pushes Hanny towards Eichs so they can have their fun then wanders to see if anyone else is here. 

There’s a girl from his English class who offers him a beer but he shakes his head. 

A guy on the soccer team punches his shoulder in greeting and Auston asks about his season. They talk soccer for a bit then make a half-hearted attempt to talk track before Auston spots Mitch and abandons the guy. 

Mitch is holding court with Davo and Stromer which means Davo is listening attentively while Stromer drapes himself over him and tries to steal his attention away. 

“Hey,” Auston says, interrupting a complaint about a rock that found its way into Mitch’s shoe on his run this morning. 

Mitch turns, a scowl on his face until he realizes it’s Auston. Then he grins. “Hey,” he says back. His eyes dip down to Auston’s jeans. “Nice. Do all clothes come air-conditioned in Arizona?”

“Hilarious,” Auston says. “Never heard that one before.”

He watches as Stromer pulls Davo even closer and thinks it looks nice. He holds his hand out to Mitch and when Mitch takes it, a little confused, Auston reels him in. He wraps his arms around Mitch’s waist and rests his head against Mitch’s. 

“This is nice,” Auston says. 

It’s odd that when Auston’s reflexes are at their slowest, he can manage to catch Mitch and hold him still.

“You are so fucking baked right now,” Mitch says with a laugh. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Auston asks.

“Stop being high? I’m not sure that’s how that works.”

“Stop holding you.” Auston would be sad to let him go, but he doesn’t want to do anything that makes Mitch uncomfortable. 

Stromer laughs and Mitch tenses up.

“Fuck off,” he snaps. “You’re fucking plastered to Davo’s back right now.”

“Yeah but there’ll be blow jobs at the end of the night for me.”

“Huh,” Auston says. “Now, there’s an idea.”

Davo elbows Stromer off him. “Marns, want to find the keg with me?”

“Yes.” Mitch shrugs out of Auston’s lax hold and they head into the house.

“I’m think you’re in trouble,” Auston tells Stromer. His front feels cold now that Mitch isn’t pressed against him.

“You too, buddy,” Stromer says. 

~*~*~

Auston doesn’t see Mitch for a few days. It’s not abnormal. They’re on the same team, but track is a weird sport. Their events don’t overlap and Mitch is in season while Auston’s in preseason so they’re only sort of on the same team.

Anyway, what Auston’s trying not to think about is how is how likely it is that Mitch is ignoring him.

The cross country team has a race and they win which Auston learns from the school’s Twitter. He even reads the article, but cross country scoring baffles him. Davo won, not a shock, and Mitch may or may not have had a good race. Auston knows what steeple times are good for Mitch and what his 3k and 5k PRs are, but every cross country course is different so that might be a good time and it might not be.

He walks down the road to the Red House to ask about the race in person. 

He doesn’t bother knocking. Davo and Stromer are on the couch watching TV. Stromer points upstairs.

Davo pauses the show and says, quietly, “Nuge is sad. Leave his door closed.”

“Okay.”

Auston doesn’t really understand distance runners. From what he’s gathered, Nuge was really close with last year’s seniors, Hallsy and Ebs, and he’s sulking because he’s only a junior and still has another two years before he graduates. 

He takes the stairs by two and ignores the closed door. Mitch’s door is mostly closed, cracked enough that Auston doesn’t feel guilty nudging it open.

Mitch’s room is a disaster, clothes everywhere, his bed taken up by three different textbooks, a graphing calculator, and two different notebooks. He’s studying math and econ which sounds dreadful to Auston, but from what he can gather from casual conversations, Mitch is pretty good at it. 

“Hey,” Auston says.

Mitch glances up, pencil tucked between his teeth, his hair sticking up in every direction as if he’s been pulling on it.

“Hey.”

The pencil falls out of Mitch’s mouth. He stares at it as if he has no idea where it came from.

Auston lingers in the doorway. Maybe this was a bad idea. If Mitch  _ is  _ uncomfortable with him then cornering him in his bedroom probably isn’t the greatest idea. 

“Sorry about the other night,” Auston says. “I, uh,”  _ thought you were into it  _ sounds like he’s blaming Mitch.  _ Get cuddly when I’m high  _ sounds like he’s making excuses. “Sorry.” 

“Um.” Mitch blinks at him like Auston’s somehow more complicated than his calculus. “What’re you apologizing for?”

“The party at the Beach House. I kind of octopused you without asking.”

“Everyone knows you’re a cuddler when you’re high. It’s why--” Mitch abruptly cuts off. “Which is totally cool, by the way. You know me, champion cuddler. There was this one time…”

This is one of those moments where Auston’s opportunity will slip away if he doesn’t stop Mitch’s babbling. They’ll talk about cuddling then without warning end up discussing ancient Greek mathematicians.

And Auston thinks he knows how Mitch was going to end that sentence before he decided he needed to distract them both.

“It’s not just when I’m high,” Auston says. “I kind of want to cuddle you all the time.”

“Um,” Mitch says. He stares at Auston, mouth hanging open. “Yes?” 

He sweeps his books off his bed and onto the floor. It’s Auston’s turn to stare then he laughs as Mitch curses and dives after his calculator. 

“Ignore that,” Mitch says. “I’m much cooler than this.”

“I know you,” Auston reminds him. “I know you aren’t cool. I like you anyway.”

“Hey!”

Auston grins and walks over to Mitch’s bed. He wants to kiss the indignation off Mitch’s face. He settles for curling his fingers under Mitch’s chin and tipping his face up. “You think running is  _ fun _ .”

“Okay, Mr. I-Pick-Things-Up-And-Put-Them-Down.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“ _ Please _ .”

Auston grins and kneels astride Mitch, careful not to put too much of his weight on him. He presses his lips against Mitch’s, gentle. 

When he pulls back, Mitch’s eyes are closed. He looks calm. A moment later, his eyes snap open. “Why’d you stop?”

Auston laughs and pushes Mitch’s shoulder so he falls back against his bed. “Want me to keep going?”

Mitch grabs a fistful of Auston’s shirt and tugs. Auston laughs again as he doesn’t even budge.

“I don’t know if that’s hot or infuriating.”

Auston braces his forearms on either side of Mitch, stretching out so he has Mitch pinned to the bed. “How about now?”

“Definitely hot.”

This time, when Mitch curls his hand around Auston’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss, Auston lets him. 


End file.
